


House of Straw

by Coragyps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feral Behavior, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coragyps/pseuds/Coragyps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been rescued, safe and sound.  But Derek is having trouble letting go of the wolf.  And the wolf is having trouble letting go of Stiles …</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Straw

 

 

 

_And the wolf huffed, and puffed, and blew down the house of straw …_

 

Somehow, in the confusion of screaming and bloodshed, Derek found Stiles.

He was bound, lying on his side, stripped down to only a thin undershirt and jeans. The scent of his discarded hoodie, thrown in the dumpster out back, had misled Derek at first.

The question of _why Stiles wasn’t wearing his clothes_ had been clawing in Derek’s mind since the moment had thrown open the lid of the dumpster, braced for the sight of the boy’s body inside.

Now there was a pile-up of dead men, cut to ribbons and scattered across the floor of the abandoned subway tunnel they had been using as a base. Derek didn’t even remember killing them. He found himself partially transformed, the hair bristling down his arms and shoulders, but he couldn’t remember shifting.

Everything was swimming in a dense, red fog.

Stiles squirmed and made a sound like a groan. There was a rag in his mouth, plastered over with a wide strip of tape, and a blindfold tied over his eyes. Derek could hear his heart tripping over itself, like it was trying to get away. But he was _alive_.

Forcing himself to focus, Derek leaned forward to sniff at him.

Stiles flinched from the unfamiliar touch, blindly, a muffled note of protest behind his gag. It made Derek irrationally angry.

He grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt and hauled him up by the collar, lifting him easily, his werewolf strength more than enough to carry the boy. Stiles twisted in his grasp, helpless with his wrists still bound behind his back.

They had to leave. Now. There could still be enemies nearby, wielding unknown weapons. For all Derek knew, this was all going according to some plan of theirs, to lure him here using his pack-human as bait.

Larger than Stiles in this form, Derek could carry the boy tucked against his side, the way humans carried small children, with an arm under his knees. He flailed until one of Derek’s hands – and when had those claws re-emerged? – cupped the back of his head and pressed it into the curve of Derek’s neck. Then he settled, as though he recognized the scent, and Derek rumbled satisfaction.

The tape around his ankles was almost split - Stiles had been sawing it against a jagged rock. _Resourceful pup_. Derek sliced through the rest of it and guided him to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist, where he clung like a monkey.

Stiles tried to say something incomprehensible, but Derek ignored him, looking for the way out. It was probably good that the boy be kept quiet until they were safe. He didn’t untie the blindfold, either – better that his eyes were covered, so he couldn’t see the wreckage of the men that had abducted him.

There wasn’t much left that was recognizably human, anyway.

As he bounded down the tunnel, Derek felt himself sprout more fur, claws lengthening, every sense on the alert. The wolf was ready for another fight, eager. There was a man guarding the ladder to the surface, but Derek had disemboweled him before he even had time to scream. One swipe of one arm, while he kept the boy crushed tightly to his chest with the other.

 _Focus,_ Derek reminded himself, feeling the wolf snarl inside of him. He had to maintain enough control for them to get away. _Just a little longer._

He curled the now-bloody hand back around Stiles, boosting him a little higher, and then they were climbing out into the drizzling rain. When he reached the top of the ladder he paused, hunched over his prize, to listen. There was not a single heartbeat left in the tunnel, or anywhere nearby.

The only survivors were the boy and himself.

Good.

It was a short sprint to the treeline, and from there they could stay safely concealed the whole distance back to Beacon Hills. It was many miles away, but that was no problem for the wolf, who could run forever. Stiles’ weight was barely a hindrance. It felt good to be moving, to be covering ground.

But with his every sense magnified, Derek was aware of any trace of activity as he loped through the trees. The far-away sound of cars on the highway, or the smell of distant smoke, had him growling in his throat. The movements of a fallow deer in the bushes seemed threatening. Even his own betas should to stay away from him now.

He would kill anyone who tried to take the boy.

Derek shifted his concentration to the bundle in his arms. Stiles was making angry, frustrated noises behind his gag. He had worked the blindfold off of his eyes by rubbing his face on Derek’s shoulder - the loop of cloth was still knotted around his neck - but the thick strap of tape across his mouth held firm.

He managed an aggrieved approximation of Derek’s name when Derek pushed his head back down.

His heart rate was close to the normal range, and the metallic tang of his fear was fading. But he was chilled by the rain, and Derek tried to hold him closer, tighter, without slowing his own pace.

Stiles objected to being squashed with a squeak. But as the downpour intensified, he relented, huddling in against Derek’s chest, sheltering his face from the driving rain by hiding it under Derek’s chin.

_Good puppy._

It took hours to get back into Hale territory, and Derek didn’t allow himself to relax even when they did. He needed to get the boy somewhere safe, somewhere defensible. He debated between dens, but finally made his way to the ruin of his family’s house, which still felt like home to the wolf despite what had happened there.

He gathered a few supplies and then sat the damp, shivering boy on the front step, kneeling in front of him to quickly look him over. Stiles was still trying to talk behind his gag, garbled, his eyes wide.

Derek tore the tape binding his wrists with his claws, holding them captive when he was done to examine the welts from the sharp edges of the tape where the boy had struggled. He wanted to lick the wounds, soothe them with his own saliva. He wanted to hunt down some woodland creature – a rabbit, perhaps or a young, tender fawn – and cut out the heart to feed to Stiles. A nice juicy heart would make him feel better, for sure.

Derek cupped his cheek and lifted it in one hand, meeting Stile’s pleading eyes with his own. The boy didn’t smell like he’d been badly injured, just tied up and probably scared out of his mind. His soft, vulnerable lips were stretched obscenely around the rag.

It was harder than it should have been to concentrate on the claws of one hand, but finally they melted into fingertips. Funny; Derek had never had trouble shifting back and forth between forms before. His hands and eyes were always the easiest to change.

With his new fingers, Derek gently peeled away the tape from Stile’s mouth, wincing when he winced. When it was gone he coaxed the boy’s jaws apart and fished out the damp, dirty cloth.

“Derek – ” Stiles started to say, as soon as he could talk. Derek hushed him with a soothing rumble, immediately lifting a bottle of water to his cracked, bleeding lips. He was dehydrated and needed to drink.

Stiles gulped from the bottle greedily, like a pup suckling from its mother’s teat – but after only a second he pulled away and resisted Derek’s efforts to give him more.

“Uhh … dude? Can you tell me what’s going on, here? Cuz I gotta say, this doesn’t feel like your usual post-rescue behavior.”

Derek bared a lip, but his voice was too far away to reach.

“Derek? You’re in there, right?” Stiles’ voice was cautious. “Because I know you’re barely verbal usually, but somehow this is feeling a little more extreme. Is this, like, a new thing, where you look mostly human but your mind is all – furry? Derek? Can you understand me, big guy?”

Derek huffed. The wolf could more or less understand human words. He just – didn’t feel like talking, right now.

Instead he tipped Stiles’ head into the right position to receive the water again, a clawed hand under his chin. His fingers had reverted as soon as he’d stopped concentrating, he noted belatedly. It was hard enough to hold his human form – the wolf felt more natural – but he needed the flexibility of arms and _mustn’t scare the pup, mustn’t scare the pup, mustn’t scare the pup._

“You know I could do this for myself, if you’d let go of my wrists,” Stiles pointed out, nonetheless accepting little sips as Derek carefully tilted the bottle to his mouth.

Derek ignored him. He was thinking that he needed to get the boy off the porch and dry – and out of his torn, wet clothes, which stunk of foreign hands and his own terror.

No time like the present.

“Hey, whoa, stop that!” Stiles exclaimed, as Derek slid a clawed hand under his shirt, cutting it away with his nails. “Derek, no – bad, bad werewolf!”

Derek checked him over thoroughly, his arms and his naked chest, scowling at the feel of icy fingers trying to push his arm away. Too cold. Humans had such thin, useless skin.

“Oh god, please don’t say you’ve gone off the wolfy deep-end here, because that is just not going to end well for me.”

Stiles yipped as he was turned by the hips, and Derek quickly sniffed up the backs of his legs and over his backside. Untouched. Good.

“I can’t believe I’m getting my butt sniffed by a werewolf. This is my life now.”

Derek sliced through the jeans, which were wet through, and peeled them away in two pieces. He left the underclothes, remembering that humans were particular about keeping their genitals covered.

But Stiles didn’t seem appreciative. “Oh god oh god – it’s _me_ , okay Derek? It’s your ol’ pal Stiles. C’mon, stay with me here. Derek?”

Derek rumbled, pressing forward, burying his face in the soft, pale stomach. Wolves were tactile. He wanted to curl the boy into a bundle of fur and flesh, lick him clean all over, offer him a warm, furry ear to suck on. Offer him the reassurance of teeth at the scruff of his neck.

“Derek, if you’re in there, don’t bite me! _Please_!” Stiles was trying cover himself with his arms, eyes shut tight.

Derek sat back and cocked his head, trying to understand. The wolf knew that Stiles didn’t want to be bitten. He thought it was foolish, but accepted it. Why was the puppy getting upset?

Cautiously, he approached again, sniffing at Stiles’ clenched hands until they relaxed. Then he nuzzled his face into the boy’s palm, struggling to remember human gestures of comfort.

“H-hey, buddy,” said Stiles weakly. Fingers petted hesitantly through Derek’s hair. His heart slowed down. That was good.

Derek knew he still had to get the boy warmed up. Standing, he wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him, bones stretching to accommodate. Then he carried him into the house, listening contentedly to his protestations and complaints. It was a good sign, for him to be making so much noise – that was normal Stiles behavior.

“You know I can still _walk_ , right? Derek! Are you listening to me?!”

Derek was listening; he just wasn’t at the level of answering. He found the wool blanket he sometimes slept on as a wolf – still smelling strongly and satisfyingly like himself – and concentrated on wrapping it tightly around the boy, trapping his arms inside.

“This is actually really gross,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek hummed. It wasn’t enough. Humans were vulnerable to the cold, especially after intense emotional situations. One blanket wouldn’t be sufficient.

Hoisting Stiles back onto his shoulder, (“Hey! King Kong! You wanna put me down before the airplanes come after us??”) Derek went to the hallway and pulled out the spare set of sheets, almost shredding them with his still-partially-transformed claws. Then he clumsily folded the boy up in cotton, legs and feet tucked inside with only his head popping out the top.

Done, he paused to gauge Stiles’ heartbeat again. Slower, more regular. Good. And he didn’t stink of fear, only faint confusion.

 _Don’t worry, pup._ He dug in the closet again, wanting another blanket to wrap around the boy, over the other two. _Gonna get you nice and warm._

“It’s, uh, kind of hard to understand you when you’re growling between your teeth like that – were those words? You wanna try that one again? Derek?”

Derek was pulling out a snowy bedspread. Erica must have brought it by. It smelled like flowers and girl.

“Uh, seriously,” said Stiles, squirming in his blanket swaddle. “No more. I’m … good here.”

 _“Cold.”_ Derek forced the word through a thick throat, sounding strangely husky and deep.

“Wha - Cold? Dude, you’ve got me wrapped up like a burrito, I’m not exactly about to freeze to death. Suffocate, maybe.”

Derek whined, uncertain. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, like Stiles might not notice being tucked in if he was quick about it.

“Alright, okay, fine,” Stiles relented. “Gimme another blanket – okay, that’s nice, thank you. Mmm, nice and warm, okay?”

Derek rumbled in excitement, tucking the sheet around Stiles’ neck.

“You happy now, Fuzzy?”

Derek slid an arm around the blanket-pile and tugged the whole bundle onto his lap, close enough to burrow his face into the blankets and sniff at Stiles’ neck. _Safe_. Derek licked him there, contented, letting out a huff of amusement when the boy yelped and flailed.

“Whoa! Bad dog! The sniffing I guess I should be used to, but no tongue!”

Derek snuffled around his ear and cheek. The danger had passed, and still the wolf whined and whimpered inside of him, nosing around in anxiety, unable to melt back into Derek’s misty subconscious.

Derek didn’t understand.

“You’re a lot more cuddly this way, you know that?” Stiles’ voice was muffled in Derek’s shoulder. “So far I seem to be kind of weirdly okay with it.”

Stiles didn’t have a mother, Derek recollected. Only a father, always away on an endless hunt. _Poor pup, huddled in the den alone, with no furry bodies to curl up to._

It was a familiar state.

But Derek was here now, Derek would keep the boy warm and guarded and well-fed.

There had been a knit woolen hat in the closet, leftover from one of the betas. It had ear flaps and a pom-pom on top. Carefully cupping Stiles’ head in his hands, Derek pulled the cap down over the boy’s hair.

“Got me covered with fur of my own now, huh,” said Stiles, looking down at himself. “Awesome.”

Derek scooped him up again, this time cradled against his chest, (“Seriously, dude, we’re going to have to work on the carrying thing. It’s a real blow to my masculinity”), and ferried him down the hall to the mattress where Derek usually slept. It smelled of Hale pack, of safety.

He settled Stiles down among the shredded pillows and crawled in after him, climbing up his body to settle on top of him. He knew eventually he would have to take Stiles home, but right now he needed the reassurance of his alpha, and Derek would give it to him.

“So, I’m guessing that you’re kinda stuck,” said Stiles, working a hand free. Derek grumbled – _Get back under those blankets, puppy_ – but of course Stiles reached out to rest his fingers on Derek’s shoulder, instead. “Is just this a thing that happens sometime? Or of is a hex, some kind of curse maybe, what?”

Derek grunted, uninterested, and tried to turn away.

“A spell?” Stiles gently took Derek’s head in his hands and turned it to meet his eyes. “Was there anything weird you were exposed to in that tunnel?”

Derek leaned forward to nuzzle their noses together.

Stiles snorted, but it sounded like a happy snort. “Well, I don’t really know who they were or what they wanted, but they were definitely bad news.”

Derek growled softly. He had recognized the stink of human magic rising from the men. Probably it had been a coven of witches, hoping to drain the pack of their power, using Stiles as a conduit. But he didn’t say anything; there was no sense upsetting the boy. Anyway it didn’t matter. They were gone now and wouldn’t be back – _ever_.

Deliberately, he huffed in Stiles’ face, so that he could smell his alpha’s breath and know that he was safe now.

“What the hell have you been _eating_? Dogbreath, ew.” Stiles twisted his head to the side, dislodging the hat.

Derek nudged himself in closer, followed his face. The boy was slender, pale. He smelled good. The wolf wanted more. He wanted to nip at the plump curve of his ear, lick into his mouth, his nose, his forehead. Derek had to remind himself that Stiles probably wouldn’t find being pinned down and nibbled on to be very reassuring.

“Uh, I guess this is a thing that’s happening now?” Stiles wheezed, struggling to breathe under Derek’s weight. He shifted to accommodate until Derek was kneeling between his thighs.

Derek preened a little. It was right that the boy should spread his legs and submit to his alpha.

Someday he’d like to stripe the boy’s backside with his cum, paint his lips with it, tuck him into bed with a warm load in his belly. Then he’d know who he belonged to, and nobody would dare to trouble him again, not when he carried Derek’s scent.

But not yet.

Stiles was still little more than a pup, and Derek wouldn’t hurt him, had no right to take that from him.

Maybe someday, if the boy knew what he was offering and offered it again, Derek would accept; roll him over and have him that way, on his hands and knees, and then on his belly, rubbing him off against the sheets, making a mess of himself.

The wolf liked the idea of that.

“Derek? You’ve gone all – growly. And your eyes are glowing.” Stiles reached out to cup Derek’s stubbled cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Shh,” Derek rumbled, licking Stiles’ ear soothingly. “Sh sh sh.” He could taste the tang of his pills, and salt, and chewing gum. “Stiles,” he purred, rubbing his stubbled cheek against the side of Stiles’ neck.

“Yeah, Stiles, that’s me! You remember your buddy Stiles, doncha, big guy?”

Derek grunted companionably, arranging himself with his back to the window, lying over Stiles like a blanket. The boy was tired and needed to rest. Derek would stay on guard, and anything that came would have to go through him first.

“I’m alright, you know,” said Stiles, voice a little muffled in the mattress. “You got me out, and I’m safe and sound, no harm done. You can go back to ignoring me or slamming me into walls or whatever. Whenever you’re ready.”

Derek rubbed his face in the boy’s clean-smelling hair, rumbling low in his chest to put him at ease. _Go to sleep, puppy._

“And thanks, by the way, for … you know, coming for me. Again. I guess I forgot to say that before.” Stiles turned his head into the prickly slope of Derek’s neck, and Derek sighed contentedly.

“It’s okay if you want to come back, any time now,” Stiles whispered. “It’s safe.” His voice was slurring, drowsy. “You’re fun like this, but … I kind of miss the real Derek too.”

\--

When Derek awoke, it was to the sight of his own clawed, furry arm protectively wrapped across Stiles’ skinny waist.

Oh, Shit.

The boy had been hurt, possibly traumatized, and what had Derek done? Oh, just snarled at him, threatened to bite him, and possibly molested him in his sleep. No big deal or anything.

“D’rick?” Stile’s voice was sluggish with sleep. “Mm … sorry, dude – tried to get up at one point, but you _growled_ at me …”

Derek didn’t actually remember that, but he believed it. “Sorry,” he muttered. Why the hell the wolf had wanted to keep Stiles, he had no idea – why not take him home, or to Scott, or to literally anyone else? It was a mystery.

“Hey, you’re looking better,” said Stiles, “and look, no claws! That’s an improvement.”

Derek looked down and realized he was right. As he’d woken up properly, he’d naturally shifted all the way back human. “I feel … better,” he said. “I can take you home now, if you want. The wolf is – back to lurking in the background. I’m good to drive.”

Stiles rolled over, looking up at him. “So was it a spell, then?”

Derek frowned.

“Not a spell?” Stiles studied his face. “Has this ever happened before? Have you ever, you know, gone on a little wolf-y vacation accidentally?”

The truth was that Derek’s memories were pretty vague for the weeks right after the fire. It’s possible that his mind had been a little wolfed-out. It helped – wolves didn’t feel emotions quite as keenly as humans, at least not the complex ones like self-loathing and guilt.

None of this was anything he was going to share with Stiles. He shrugged again, looking away.

“Hmm,” said Stiles.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” said Derek, his voice low.

“No! No, it was fine, I felt – pretty safe, actually, with the other guy. And he was, I don’t know, kind of sweet, I guess? Some of the time? Like an overgrown puppy.”

“The wolf practically molested you,” said Derek skeptically.

“Aw, he just wanted wolfy snuggles! Who doesn’t like wolfy snuggles!”

Derek rolled his eyes and decided not to share where the wolf’s mind had been at the time.

“So, that was kind of a tough one, huh?” asked Stiles, cautiously. "As abductions go, I mean."

Derek had been coming to warn him, he remembered now, had gotten to the house just in time to see Stiles being wrestled into the car. No time to call the pack. He had followed the car for miles on foot, afraid to lose sight of it. Then it had disappeared down a snarl of side alleys and he’d been distracted by the clothes in the dumpster – everything was a little vague after that …

“You were – scared,” said Derek, reluctantly. “They took you away and I could hear you, your – heartbeat, smell the blood and your fear and I just – ” _killed them all._ “I guess it must have … thrown a switch.”

“I’m alright, now,” Stiles whispered.

Not whimpering and helpless in an abandoned subway tunnel, trussed up and counting on Derek to save him.

“Dude, are you, like, petting me?”

Derek glowered, wanting to deny the accusation, but he didn’t stop moving his hands over Stiles’ shoulders, lightly down his arms. “You’re not – one of my betas,” he said reluctantly, trying to make the words make sense. “You’re human, you’re fragile. The wolf sees you as – as a pup, I guess you could say.”

“Well, that’s just insulting. I’m almost eighteen! I’m practically in the prime of manhood!”

“Your father still calls you kiddo and tells you it’s time for bed."

“You know if you didn’t _lurk in our house_ you wouldn’t know this kind of stuff!”

“It’s not – bad,” said Derek, frowning. His hands were itched to pet Stiles’ cheek, but he resisted, knowing it would send mixed signals in the human world. “The wolf likes it. He wanted to wrap you up and feed you raw rabbit hearts.”

“That’s … nice?” said Stiles.

“They’re considered a delicacy. For, you know, wolves.”

Stiles nodded gravely. “And, uh, are all those – witches, or whatever they were – are they dead?”

Derek shrugged, which meant _yes_.

“That’s … good to know.”

“They were human,” said Derek, glancing over, wondering if Stiles would voice any protestations over the murder of his own kind.

“Bad humans,” Stiles pointed out. He frowned. “We should text the betas. Get it cleaned up. And tell Scott I’m alright. And I need to call my dad.”

Derek nodded.

“But maybe … maybe not right now,” said Stiles, shyly. “I’m still, you know, kind of tired. If you wanted … we could just go back to sleep, for a little while?”

The wolf twisted in Derek’s heart.

“Yeah,” he said.  "Okay."

-

  
**(The End)**


End file.
